Sherry Chapmanby Sherry Chapman
First published in Winter, 2009, Volume 6, Issue 3, The Hatchet: Journal of Lizzie Borden Studies.
Dear Abby,
I cannot sign this, as I am a friend. Or was one. I have been in your home many times and I feel that I can no longer keep still on the subject. My dear, your furniture is hopelessly outdated. Stepping into your sitting room is like stepping back into time – a time we’d want to forget. I am no expert and will not venture to guess what period things are from. I do not know what your well-to-do husband spends his money on, but as a friend I encourage you to speak to him of casting some of it toward new furniture. And, since I am finally writing this letter I had only written in my head before, it would be appreciated if you would put in a word for a water closet that is in the house. —Believe it or not, a friend
Dear ‘Friend’,
Our furniture is quite comfortable and still has years and years before it is not usable anymore – if ever. My husband sees no point in replacing perfectly good and functional things, and I see his point. You may not be an expert, but my husband is (you may remember his prior business Borden & Almy – Undertakers and Furniture). And he says our home is filled with furniture of the “pre—modern era”.
Dear Abby,
Say, can ya help me out on somethin, Abby? I gotta do a papah on somethin for school, an’ I don’t know what the thing is. I ain’t nevah hoid ovit. Can you tell me what the heck are ‘parachutes’? Gee, Abby, thanks. Your swell. —Frankie Hall, at da high school
Dear Frankie,
I am not sure. Guns?
Dear Abby,
I have heard that gold was found in one of our Southern states. I will of course not mention here which state. But it was of sufficient quantity as to give me a strong leaning toward moving my family there to prospect. My wife says she will not go. My children do not give their opinion as we always tell them they should be seen and not heard. Can you please talk some cents into my wife, Abby, so that we do not miss out on an almost sure thing? —Ira Borden, Flint Village
Dear Mr. Borden,
I am afraid I must agree with your wife. I asked my husband, who knows a great deal about the business world, and he thinks this gold prospecting is largely just a flash in the pan.
Dear Abby,
I have had this headache for a very long time. I have taken all that druggists and my physician recommended. Nothing has helped. You are my last resort, Abby. What can I do? —Throbbing on Third Street
Dear Throbbing,
I will answer you privately, using your return address on your envelope. Our youngest, Lizzie, has spoken of needing a pain killer recently, and she now appears to be just fine.
Dear Abby,
I heard that the photo of you on your column is ten years old. Is this true? —LAB, Fall River and Europe
Dear LAB,
I’m sorry. I wasn’t paying attention. Can you repeat, please?
Dear Abby,
I am 35 years old and live with my parents. I have went to primary school, and I have went to high school (and graduated). I liked school. But I have no interest in getting a job. Getting up at dawn, performing some grueling task for ten hours, then coming home to eat dinner and sleep, and doing it all over again the next day just does not appeal to me. My father has been working at the same mill for 30 years, and he is constantly nagging at me to do the same. Says he can “get me in.” I don’t want to “get in” at that mill, or any other. Things would not change for me, other than I would waste my youth and wither away from the job that would take nearly all my waking moments away. I would still live here anyway, Abby. And my ma would still fix the same stuff for dinner that she does now. My ma reads your column all the time, Abby. Will you please tell her that it is all right for a 35 year old man to live with his parents and not get a job? Thanks, Abby.—Retired but never worked
Dear Retired,
Personally I think you should be ashamed to be soaking in your parents’ hard-worked-for home and contributing nothing. I consulted the Reverend Edwin Augustus Buck about this and he said, “Work is the lot of man! Man was sent into this world to earn his living by the sweat of his brow. You didn’t find Adam walking about the Garden of Eden with his hands in his pockets.” Amen to that.
Dear Abby,
I cannot get to sleep no matter how hard I try. This has been going on for about a week now, and the more I try to get to sleep, the more I can’t. I’ve counted sheep, drank warm milk, drank chamomile tea, drank anise seed tea, taken valeria, and I have only tossed, turned, and gotten up to use the chamber pot. Do you have any other ideas that I have not yet tried?— Ellen O’Hare, Rock Street
Dear Ellen,
I have never had this problem and am glad I have never experienced it. However, I asked our youngest, Lizzie, if I had “insomnia” (which is the medical term) what she would recommend I do if I did. She immediately replied, “Sit on the edge of the bed and you’ll drop off.” Thank you, Lizzie.
LOST CAT: Dear Readers, I seem to have lost my beloved cat, Ollie. He is grey, with dark grey stripes. He cries a lot, as my husband tells us not to feed him so that he will go after the mice around here. (Do not tell, but I feed him anyway.) Last heard from about a week ago, when he screamed for some reason in the basement. Our daughter, Lizzie, says that we will never find him and I bet her a nickel that I would, with the help of my faithful readers. Look high and look low, my friends and, should you find him, delivery of him to my door will reap you four cents in reward money.
